


sing me anything

by introductory



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Blood Kink, Drabble Collection, F/M, M/M, Rough Sex, Smoking Kink, Violence, Voyeurism, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-18
Updated: 2014-09-18
Packaged: 2018-02-17 18:11:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2318642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/introductory/pseuds/introductory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Eight unconnected fragments about Steve Rogers.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	sing me anything

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sufferingsappho](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sufferingsappho/gifts).



> Written at various points during summer 2012, bits and pieces of WIPs and ideas that never went anywhere.

1\. 

There are tears leaking from the corners of Steve's wide-open eyes and he keeps making little choking noises like he can't take it, but he doesn't pull away and he doesn't tell Bucky to stop. At some point the cuts on Steve's lips must have torn back open; there's red streaking Bucky's dick, and damn if it isn't the most arousing thing he's ever seen. "Fuck, Steve," he groans, twisting a handful of his friend's hair, "you're so good, so fucking perfect, I could fuck this sweet mouth of yours all day," and Steve's eyes go even wider for a moment before fluttering shut, damp eyelashes trembling, and Bucky says it again, _perfect_ and _pretty_ and _mine_ , over and over and over, until he comes.

  


2\. 

"You can't say you didn't miss me," says the Winter Soldier, and Steve finds that he can't. He's spent two years missing Bu -- missing this man, and to have him back in any capacity -- it's better than never getting to see him again, isn't it? 

He hesitates, and the Winter Soldier must read it on his face; when he leans in to stroke Steve's cheek it's with an indulgent kind of tenderness. Steve knows what's coming next, and he's not surprised when the Winter Soldier follows the touch with a kiss, chaste and tasting of nothing. If Steve lets himself pretend, it almost feels like love.

  


3\. 

Bucky finds him just around the corner, deep in the middle of a coughing fit. "You tryin' to kill yourself?" he says, snatching the light from Steve's mouth. "Give me that. You forget you have asthma or somethin'?" 

Steve glares up at him through a haze of tears and smoke. " _No,_ Buck," he says, feeling pissy, "I remember." It's not as if he can forget when his lungs seize up every time the weather changes, or when he gets socked real hard by a bully, or when Bucky's taking him flat on his stomach and forgets to give him room to breathe. "And I don't need you to remind me, thanks."

"Fine, then," laughs Bucky, putting the cigarette to his own lips and taking an effortlessly long draw. "It's your funeral, not mine."

"You kidding?" says Steve. "I'll outlive you by a century." He takes the light back from Bucky's fingers and crushes it under his heel, steps forward till Bucky's pressed against the cobblestones. Kissing him in broad daylight, where anyone could see -- it's reckless, it's risky, but nothing besides Bucky's lips against his own has ever made Steve feel so _alive_.

  


4\. 

"So tell me, Captain," says Loki, voice a soft murmur in Steve's ear, "what would you give to see them again? Your pretty special agent with the red, red lips? Your childhood friend with the red, red hands?"

"Bucky was a soldier, not a murderer," says Steve hotly, curling his hands into fists. "He was only serving his country -- protecting his people. He never took a single innocent life." 

Loki's answering laugh is sharp. "And you are the highest authority on who is or is not innocent, yes?" He tips the sceptre forward; the point jabs Steve in the chest. "Would it trouble you, I wonder, to hear what your dear Sergeant Barnes has since become?"

  


5\. 

"Lower, all the way to the table," says Bucky, softly, behind him, and Steve bends down until his face touches wood. "Like that. Good." 

Steve's known where Bucky was going with this, but somehow it doesn't actually hit home until he feels the rim of the bottle against his entrance, the cold and unyielding pressure of it. "Yeah," says Bucky, to no one in particular, and then he's pushing it slowly inside of him, hand heavy between Steve's shoulder-blades to hold him down. 

Steve isn't sure which makes his cheeks burn more: the act itself (the dry ache, the feeling of being split apart and torn into pieces, the desperate, shameful _need_ ) or the fact that Bucky never needed to lay a single finger on Steve to keep him perfectly still.

  


6\. 

Bucky knows, he _knows_ he shouldn't be watching, knows he's going to burn in hell for staring from the shadows instead of leaving and pretending he was never here, but there's nothing on this earth that could make him move from this spot. Not when Agent Carter's got her skirt flipped up over Steve's face, rocking her hips back and forth like she's possessed; not when Steve's hands are fluttering like he wants to reach up and hold her and bruise the shapes of his fingers into her plush thighs if only she didn't have his wrists pinned down to the floor;

not when Steve is obviously hard as hell in his uniform, not when he's moaning against her like _he's_ the one who's getting off (and Bucky doesn't know how Steve can even breathe with her thighs around his face like that but then if Bucky was the one underneath her he'd gladly suffocate to death); not when Agent Carter is gasping and saying, "Oh,  god -- yes, yes, there, my _god_ \-- " and Steve makes the filthiest god damn noise as she bears down further, yanks at his close-cropped hair, angles his head back until his mouth is right where she wants it; not when she shudders and cries out and comes;

and not when she finally climbs off and pulls Steve up to kiss her, then turns towards the shadows and says, "Well, Sergeant, are you going to join us or not?"

  


7\. 

"C'mon, hit me," says Bucky, fists up, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Just one punch, Rogers, you can do it." 

Steve shakes his head; he's never thrown a punch that wasn't in self-defense and he's certainly not about to hit Bucky, who's got eight inches and eighty pounds on him and who is also, by default, his best friend. Bucky lands a soft punch to Steve's chest, and Steve winces. 

"Don't tell me that actually hurt," laughs Bucky, "come on, don't be such a wimp about it, hit m -- " Then he's letting out a yelp and stumbling backwards, hand pressed to his jaw. "Fuck, Steve, you got a brick up your sleeve or something? _Jesus_." 

Steve opens his mouth to apologize, but then Bucky's laughing again, head thrown back and looking genuinely joyful. "Knew you had it in you," says Bucky, grinning, and Steve can't help but grin back.

  


8.

Steve's wristwatch stopped working when he crossed the river; it could be only a day since he arrived, it could be more than a week. He has no real way of knowing -- the path stretches endlessly ahead, a lonely grey terrain broken only by the occasional tree -- but still he walks on, pushes himself until the soles of his feet are aching and he has no choice but to stop.

( _You ready to follow Captain America into the jaws of death?_ )

He can hear Bucky's footfalls behind him, uneven and quiet, boots scuffing at the gravel. Steve slows his pace until Bucky is walking almost beside him but not quite; it would be too tempting to turn his head sideways, just a fraction, and see Bucky's face -- but Steve can't look, _mustn't_ look, not even from the corner of his eye. Must keep Bucky always one step behind, must fill in the silence with one-sided conversation and the  echo -- the memory -- of his best friend's voice.

( _That little guy from Brooklyn, I'm following him._ )

Steve's already let Bucky fall once; he's not about to let him fall again.


End file.
